Dear Albertine...

A Letter To My Future Child

In August 2015, I had an intense and vivid dream. It wasn’t the type of dream you’d brush off as random or obscure in its sensibility, nor was it flippant in its content. Rather, it was the evocative kind that welcomed emotions unhindered by social constructs. It was thought provoking. It was a dream where everything and everyone was real, and I was part of something amazing; this dream depicted a convincing reality.

**

I’m holding a baby – a girl to be precise. She is beautiful. Her skin is smooth, flawless. Her cheeks are plump; the healthy hue reminiscent of a fresh peach. Her eyes are a sharp blue, and her hair golden. I’m holding this baby girl in my arms, wrapped cosily in an eggshell-white cotton blanket with pale blue and yellow stripes. As if the vision before me were a video tape stuck between fast-forward and rewind, the child flickers between two ages: the newborn sleepily cradled in my arms, and that of a toddler, her telling hair now flowing in gentle uncut locks that bounce just past her ear lobes as she waddles by, arms outstretched.

My family sit around me in awe, comforting and peaceful smiles on their faces. My smile, however, is beaming. As if under a spell, I continue to look lovingly into my daughter’s eyes, unable to look away as she lay contentedly in my arms. Everything around her is blurred now, making her the salient figure of my life from here on. I hold her closer, my nose nearly touching hers as I say with full conviction “You’ll be such an intelligent woman!” I am proud of my girl beyond belief – it’s as if her eyes hold the answers to the universe, like tiny crystal balls revealing her future…

**

Upon waking, I felt strangely conflicted. Initially I was elated to have so vividly interacted with my first-born years before her conception. However, another part of me felt frustrated, distanced and deeply, deeply sad. I’d been unfairly separated from my sweet baby girl; the girl I’d held only for moments once upon a dream, yet now shared an unfathomable maternal bond with.

In the weeks to follow, I continued to think about my dream. Many nights I’d fall asleep praying to God that I’d dream of her again. I missed her terribly, and during stolen introspective moments in chaotic work environments, I wished so strongly to be reunited with her. It was then that I understood every working-mother’s dilemma come the end of their maternity leave. I finally understood the love a mother feels for her child, and as if a veil had been lifted from my eyes, realised my own mother’s unconditional and selfless love for me.

I continued to think of my golden-haired girl, and sub-consciously, I began making decisions based on how they would impact her. The choices ranged from life-changing (e.g. international migration, career stability) to personal (who I associated with, how I behaved in social situations). My life motto ‘honest and imperfect’ prompted me to think about which stories of experience I would share with my daughter, which would remain private, and how I would assist her to make sound decisions without sounding ‘too preachy’. I contemplated how I would enable her to become the person she aspired to be. I also wondered how she would perceive me as I neared my forties or fifties, and she grew to be a teenager with her own opinions. I wondered if she would question my reasoning or ever doubt my decisions. I knew she would respect me, but I wanted to consider if there was any reason she would not.

It was in considering how I would provide my child with a hopeful future, and how I would preserve our mother-daughter relationship that inspired me to write this piece. The following is an open letter to my dear (future) daughter, Albertine.

~

Dear Albertine,

Do you know why I named you as such? When I was twenty-eight (well before you were born), I had a dream. I dreamt I was holding you in my arms and although you were no more than a few weeks old, I wholeheartedly believed you would grow up to be an incredibly smart, confident and well-respected young woman. I had full conviction.

Connoting royalty, nobility and intelligence, your name’s origin can be linked to a number of European countries: Spain, France and Germany included. While Albertine was different – ‘old-timey’ and beautiful - I also considered naming you for the vibrant golden hair you possessed in my dream. However, ‘gold’ in Spanish translates to ‘Oro’, and the three letters / two syllables just weren’t expressive enough for my little girl.

Before you were conceived, before you were even a psychological conception, I made a promise to you. I promised never to do anything to shame or disappoint you. As I write this in my late twenties, I can assure you I have never been so drunk that I’ve failed to recollect the events of the night before, I’ve had no one-night stands, and I’ve avoided illicit drugs though they were always available to me. I would be so ashamed if ever you discovered something sordid from my past that I’d thought was lost and buried. Luckily, there are no such secrets that exist, nor any I would keep from you. I promise to always act as a role model to you in every possible way - you have my word.

I’ll always be honest with you, even if it means telling you about my failed relationships and how I learnt from them. I’ll overcome past hurts and promise never to hold grudges against the people who did me wrong; however, for your benefit I will never let myself forget what rejection, disappointment or heartbreak feels like. So that you grow to be a well-rounded adult, building your capacity to empathise is very important to me. I’ll be empathetic with you, always.

I’ll share with you my experiences, endeavoring to leave few stones unturned. I hope you can learn from my mistakes. I really do… but I know it is essential you learn from your own.

When you tell me about your latest boyfriend or crush and seek my advice, I may not always tell you what you want to hear. Rather, I will share with you my honest opinion; however, I promise to tread carefully when I believe your heart is at risk of being broken.

I want you to know that it is not ok to be ignored, or to be treated as second best. It’s not ok for people to make you feel like you are any less than the beautiful, intelligent, caring, loving and wholesome girl you are. I know the feeling of dismissal all too well, and at twenty-eight, I continue to be surprised by the presence of utter dejection in my own personal life, whether it be because a worthy man of interest has, without warning or explanation, decided to cut all contact, or a close friend has gone AWOL for weeks on end, forgetting important milestones in my life. When this happens to you (and unfortunately it will), keep in mind that their behaviour is their prerogative and this is their issue to contend with. Over the years, I’ve come to accept that the universe has a way of indicating whether someone should be in our lives or not, and a sudden despondence on their part is often its uncomfortable warning. Such people will make you question your self-worth, Albertine, but listen to me when I say it is their loss. Remember this, I implore you.

I want you to know that ‘you are the company you keep’, and as such, I will never allow people into my life that may be of detriment to you - that would suggest a lack of dignity, and as you know sweetie, your mother is a very honorable person. I will never give you any reason to call me a hypocrite when I tell you I don’t like that friend of yours who treats you poorly, or that boy who is giving you the run around. Over time you will come to learn that my actions and feelings towards people are always justified, so if I don’t accept second best, neither should you.

You know that I am writing this letter well before your birth, so I have not yet met your father; or maybe I have, and I just don’t know it. But let me tell you this: your father is a good man. He loves you with all his heart. You are his world, even more so than me – and that is perfectly ok. He is kind and empathetic; he loves to listen to your stories and make his little girl feel special. Like me, he teaches you the ways of the world – whether it be of a social, political, cultural or historical nature, you name it, he’s discussed it with you at some point. He doesn’t lecture or dismiss your interesting yet underdeveloped ideas when you feel brave enough to share them with him. He is proud of you to no end, as am I.

I want you to be inquisitive and develop your own way of thinking. As parents, it is our responsibility to feed your desire to question, learn and discover the world around you. I will remind you daily of how smart you are, noting the many little things you say or do that lead me to believe you are an old soul. I will instill in you a sense of confidence that you can be anything you want to be; accomplish anything you desire to achieve. I have full faith in you, Albertine, like your grandparents continue to have in me.

You’ll learn from me that independence is everything, but not everyone practises it. You will exude this quality in everything you do and every decision you make. You will be at peace with yourself and never rely upon the company of others to maintain a sense of happiness. Your heart will remain guarded, hopefully having listened to my stories and learned from my mistakes. That said, you’ll follow your instinct and allow the right people into your heart, and when you do, you will love them with every fibre of your being. Hopefully you will never fall victim to society’s unruly expectations or a man’s manipulation, both of which are designed to destroy purity and sound self-perception. You’re too wise for that.

At times, you may feel pressured to follow society’s rigid path: find a man, marry, invest in the property market, have children and live happily ever after; this is an ideal that stands to erase the fact that life is non-linear. If you are single like I’ve been for most of my twenties, people may ask you “why are you still single? Aren’t you lonely?” Ignorant questions like this are more telling of their personality than of yours.

There’s a difference between loneliness and being alone. You may prefer at times to be alone – this is common and healthy. I choose this option more often than not. To be lonely, however, is entirely different. To be alone is a choice: quiet introspection is essential to your wellbeing - remember that. To be lonely is to rely upon the company of others because you are unsatisfied with your own; this is a dangerous emotion and one I hope you never succumb to. I want to give you every chance to achieve success in your life so that you never feel disappointed within yourself, and depend upon others as your main source of happiness. If you are at peace with who you are, loneliness has little chance at destroying your wonderful, charismatic demeanour.

Albertine, there is so much more I could tell you; so much more you need to know. I could write a novel to guide you through your adolescent years and tumultuous twenties, providing you with emotional support and useful tips– but unfortunately, you will have to experience the highs and lows for yourself. If in fact you do read this letter one day, you will likely tell me my efforts were unnecessary, because I’ve proven my integrity to you every day since the moment you were born.

I want this letter to remind you of your worth not only to me, but also to the world around you. You are important, Albertine: I know this to be true. You are a supernova of sorts who will do great things for many people. Selfishly, I hope my role as mother has played some part in your ability to do so.

While I may have written this letter to you years before your birth, I want you to know that the sentiments will remain true long after I am gone.

Estoy orgullosa de ti, mi niña inteligente.

Love, Mamá.

By Belinda Pearce

6/11/15

Fear of the Unknown

London Calling

It was a cold and drizzly Tuesday afternoon. I’d just left work, happy to have left with a feeling of elation that my six lessons that day had gone off without a hitch… and having chatted with my crush made it all the more better. The wipers undulated slowly across my windscreen, slightly blurred by the fine moisture emanating throughout the atmosphere below the dark, foreboding clouds. No Doubt’s ‘Settle Down’ played through my car speakers. I sang along emphatically as I normally would within the safe, non-judgmental confines of my black Jeep Wrangler.

‘You can see it in my eyes / You can read it on my lips

I’m trying to get a hold of this…’

As the lyrics continued, my chest tightened slightly, leading to a sudden and deep breath of inhalation. In this unexpected moment of previously avoided introspection, I remembered the life decisions I needed to address. As the lyrics suggested, I was trying to come to terms with something. The uncertainty, the doubt, the anxiety… it was still there, threatening to consume the forefront of my mind; threatening to wipe my pleasant, short-term memory clear, much like the wipers sarcastically waving to me from the outside of the windscreen. As Gwen Stefani’s vocals endured, little did I know that the song I was so happily belting out foreshadowed what was to happen next. And further to that, what would happen next would be the perfect metaphor for my current situation.

**

Driving my usual route home, I noticed a digital traffic update sign that flashed 'Accident on Richmond Road. Take detour.' “Poor bugger…” I thought, silently thanking God that it wasn’t me. I flicked on my left indicator and moved into the next lane of the freeway, leading me to take an earlier exit than usual so as to avoid the expected delays.

Gearing down appropriately as I approached the red traffic lights, I touched the brake peddle and came to a complete stop. I squinted at the street signs through the misty air: one pointed left, the other right. It was an intersection I was unfamiliar with though I recognised the street name. I made an executive decision within due course before the lights turned green – my inner compass has always steered me in the right direction. “Right it is,” I said aloud as I slowly but surely released my foot from the brake. Much like riding a bicycle, my foot now pressed gently upon the accelerator as if automated to do so without a second thought.

As I crawled my Jeep around the ever-dampening bend, my eyes remained focussed on the cars in the two lanes to my right. One car was slightly overhanging its lane, clearly having misjudged its ability to fit in behind the car that was ahead. Knowing I had to be even more careful, and acknowledging that my tyres had a tendency to slide erratically in wet weather, I lightly tapped the brake with my right foot so as to slow down even more.

Big mistake.

Suddenly, my car careened around the bend uncontrollably, and at an unexpected speed. The back tyres seemed to have absolutely no grip. I’d lost control of the vehicle. I put my foot down harder on the brake - no dice. I turned the steering wheel as fast as I could to avoid hitting the car that had driven up alongside mine. I spun the wheel one way then the other. My reliable Jeep had lost its shit. Before I knew it, I was situated halfway up the sidewalk facing oncoming traffic. I was directly below the freeway’s underpass at the time.

The most dramatic part was over. I was at a full stop. I was unharmed. I was safe. Miraculously, I’d avoided hitting any cars at the T-intersection and although I did feel a sudden jolt as my Jeep exceeded the gutter, the incident left me quite literally parked perfectly between two enormous cement pylons. Somehow, I’d managed to avoid making contact with either one.

‘No big deal (I can handle it) / It’ll bounce off me (I can handle it)’

I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even rattled. I distinctly remember my unsettlingly logical and calm train of thought as my car spun into a frenzy: "I cannot afford an insurance claim right now. This is bad timing. I really don’t need this. If I have an accident, I’ll have to call work and let them know I won’t be in. What a hassle!" Logical, calm and forward-planning as always. Though my immediate reaction to the potentially fatal situation was alarmingly skewed, it did instigate me to drive with more patience and care from then on.

As soon as the car came to a halt, I took off my seat belt, pulled up the handbrake and started to reach for the ignition, ready to switch off the Jeep and assess the damage. It hadn’t quite clicked that I’d gotten off scot-free. As I looked at the two pylons neighbouring either side of my front bonnet, I realised just how lucky I had been. No one had been hurt. There was not a scratch or dent to be seen. Few people saw so my dignity remained intact. As my motor continued to hum healthily, I assessed the area for oncoming traffic and reversed back into my original lane. Slowly I made my way home via the detour I otherwise would not have taken had there not been a reported accident on my usual route home.

**

The near miss became a symbol of my inability to choose between the two choices I was facing at the time: the comfortable path I was already on as a high school teacher, or to forge ahead towards the challenging obstacle course that was the unknown. If you're a close friend, loved one or acquaintance, you would know I lead a very busy and purposeful life. Leaving no stone unturned, my spare time is often spent writing and researching for personal fulfilment, learning a second language, working as a P.A. at geek cons, playing guitar and piano, and dedicating a good amount of time to exercise. If this comes as no surprise to you, then you'd also know I've booked a one-way ticket to London in 2016.

"You must be so excited!" people chime. "London! This must be a dream come true!" The response to both of these statements is a dull and boring "no". Besides the fact that many focus on the 'holiday' aspect of the journey rather than the stress of migration, the impending move to London has evoked in me a sense, or rather, fear of the unknown.

Currently, my future in London is completely set: teaching work is all systems go; working visa has been sorted, and accommodation is close to finalisation. However, if the extensive administration of moving to London was so simple and stress-free, why then am I so damn opposed to the idea?

Plan B was hurled into action as soon as the doubts began to surface. Ardently, I set forth on a job hunt, passionately seeking a career outside of teaching that would allow me to immerse myself in the world of writing. The ABC advertised a position that had me head over heels in love with the idea of working for a highly respected and ethical media corporation; but alas, my heart was broken when, after spending a solid two weeks writing a three-thousand word selection criteria document, I received the dreaded email that my application had been rejected. Painstakingly, I continued to search for similar jobs, my mind set on establishing a career that prided itself on truth, accuracy and the exposure of media manipulation. It was soon after the professional rejection that I came across a position modestly titled ‘Writer and Editor’ for an eclectic Sydney marketing agency.

Upon calling the Editorial Director, I learned that the role comprised of copywriting and managing social media for a multitude of fields: design, business, hospitality and medical to name a few. I could do this job with my eyes closed. The next six days were spent working tirelessly on a cover letter that thoroughly addressed the obscure selection criteria of the advertised position. During our phone call, the E.D. had noted that applications were open for another three weeks, so I had plenty of time to make this one count.

Only hours after my car had spun out of control on the wet and slippery road, I was eating dinner and sitting at my open Macbook Air, decidedly set on completing my convincing application. Another hour later and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Done...” So eager was I to apply that I’d kept the advertisement open in my web browser for six days – its presence acting as a reminder that the figurative clock was ticking. Ready to submit, I clicked Google Chrome’s ‘refresh’ icon. However, rather than being invited to ‘Apply now’, I was met with ‘Sorry – this job is no longer advertised.’

‘Here we go again / Are you insane?
Underneath the avalanche / So heavy again…’

I felt lost, even more so than before. I felt directionless. I felt hopeless. I felt like I wasn’t good enough… No – rather, I felt like I was damn good but my talents and expertise were being disregarded by future employers, and wasted in my current job. I felt frustrated. My future was hanging in the balance, and I was desperately grasping for lifelines that just weren’t there.

“Maybe I’m destined for London,” I thought before dragging myself to bed, dejected. “Maybe that’s the universe’s plan.”

Of my decision to live abroad, my friends and family have been incredibly supportive - I cannot fault them on that. Each of them wholeheartedly wishes for me to embark on the adventure as they know I’ll realise aspirations that would otherwise have gone unaccomplished in Australia. They lament on upcoming ventures they envision for me. They tell me exactly how we will communicate in the future - Skype calls with my friends and their yet-to-be-conceived children is the agreed mode. They tell me that they will miss me dearly, and selfishly wish I’d find a job in Sydney so that we can continue to see each other on a regular basis. Although their support has been so very appreciated, it has me left questioning my ability to cope in a foreign land without so much as a loved one’s hug for months on end.

Then there are the heartstrings, and the incredible guy tugging at them. As individuals in a highly digitalised society where face-to-face interactions are becoming more uncommon by the day, rarely do we meet people we have an instant connection with, as if drawn to them by some unknown force. Sure, I’ve only known my crush for a short period of time, but our conversations both in and outside of the workplace have led me to consider him a valued friend. I was instantly comfortable with this gentleman, as if I’d known him for years. Within a week or two, I found I was sharing my inner thoughts, hidden 'talents' (or rather, my less than desirable musical attempts), expressing self-doubt without restriction, and exposing my flaws quite comfortably. It was (and continues to be) a beautiful feeling.

While our paths seemed to cross in synchronicity with our experiences at the time, London remained a ticking time bomb, threatening to destroy the positive progress made with this intelligent, witty, grounded, soulful and kind-hearted man. Though regardless of who the love interest may be, my commitment to international migration created a temporary barricade around my love life, the sign stating ‘OFF LIMITS’ to any man who may be interested in getting to know me further. London soon became the invasive chaperone that ends your date before you get the goodnight kiss. It is the stroke of midnight that turns a beautiful ballgown back into rags. In an ideal world, our friendship would blossom into a solid relationship, albeit in due time. I worry that my efforts have been in vain if London's calling lures me to its shores in 2016.

**

As I write this, it continues to rain. Not drizzle, but pour. I’m sitting at my desk in an empty staff room, listening to the obnoxious ticking of the clock on the wall, well-aware that I’ve stayed well-passed my usual finish time, and further aware of the stringent amount of time I have to make a decision about my immediate future. If time is of the essence, then, like my wily car accident, it’s no wonder I’m so uncentred.

That said, I am resilient. I am focussed within my very being. I know exactly what my end goal is, though I may not always like the journey. I persevere, I endure, and I overcome obstacles as they occur.

**

As I drove away from the dangerously damp intersection of which my car slid, I couldn’t help but thank God resonantly for not only keeping me safe, but for making me the irrepressible person I am today. ‘Settle Down’ continued to play as I glanced back at the freeway’s underpass. Despite the immediate events, I continued to sing along with the equally tenacious Stefani:

‘I’m a rough and tough / And nothing’s gonna knock this girl down…’

By Belinda Pearce

4/11/15